


The Inner Workings and Complications of Being a Pyromaniac

by mikasasha



Series: The Coinciding Effects of the Existence of a Pyromaniac [2]
Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (2016), Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arson, F/F, Pyromania
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-09-02 17:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8676322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikasasha/pseuds/mikasasha
Summary: The first time, it was an accident. She swears it was. She didn't mean to set the garbage bin on fire. The second time, however... Well, who's going to miss some dumb old garbage bin, anyway?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this has a sister fic revolving around Enoch and Jake give it a read. i will try to be updating them often and at the same time

The first time Olive did it, it was an accident. She swears it was.

She didn't _mean_  to set the garbage bin on fire. She simply couldn't do it at her apartment, is all. The smoke alarm would go off. So she had left, went into one of the back alleys that held a garbage bin full of cardboard from some homeless man's old home or another, lit some sheets of printer paper from her apartment up above the bin, waited until they burned so far that she could feel the heat on her fingertips, blew them out, and dumped the ash into garbage bin.

It wasn't her first time doing it, of course. She did it quite often, actually. Every night, almost. (Hence why every week, she was buying some cheap, new Bic lighter from the grocery store around the corner.) So she was certainly no amateur.

It was only one night. Just one. _Just one time_. She had had a particularly bad day- her boss was being an especially large twat about her accent, the boy she'd begun to fancy announced he was getting married and the whole office is invited, her only friend wasn't answering her calls- she had needed to set something on fire. To just watch the flame curl and watch the smoke billow into the sky. It was therapeutic- it relaxed her and put her at ease.

She was her fourth paper in, and she got so wrapped up in watching the fire that she didn't notice how close it was to her fingers until the flames licked at her skin. She yelped in pain and dropped the paper into the garbage bin, not noticing or caring about the growing flame as she studied her fingertips, rapidly growing red and puffy. She only looked towards the bin when she noticed a bright orange in her peripheral. She slowly looked up to the bin from her fingers, and all of the pain left her as she stared at the beautiful mountain of fire coming from the inside of the bin.

She knew it must have been the cardboard- she must have set all that cardboard on fire. But all of her "knowing" and "thinking" went right out the window as she watched the flames grow higher and higher, thick black smoke being the remnants of the flames' angelic dance- as she watched the oranges and yellows twirl around and felt the heat on her face- as her eyes, however much they may burn from the heat and ash and brightness, stayed open and in awe as they drunk in the beautiful and unbelievable sight of _fire_.

She has no clue how long she stood there, just watching it tangle in itself. Not a single one. But it was long enough for someone to notice and call the police or fire department or whatever, because the distant wails of sirens are what snapped her out of her daze. When she heard the pained scream of firetrucks, she painfully ripped her eyes away from the bin, snatched up her papers, and made a conscious effort to not leave much of any footprints as she ran back to her apartment a block down.

She walked in the building the second the trucks raced down the street.

The second time...

It had been a week. No one was interrogated, nothing was investigated. The fire was put out, and that was that.

Except Olive couldn't stop thinking about it. It was all she could think about. At work, at home. Doing anything; filing, typing, brushing her teeth, it didn't matter. All she thought of was how beautiful that much fire had been. The warm colors stuck behind her eyes at all times, the heat and adrenaline still in her chest and stomach.

After a week, it began to fade. She began to forget certain details- exactly where the plastic of the bin had begun to melt, what color the lighter she used was (it had far been since used up by her lighting cigarettes and sometimes just lighting it to see it dance), what shoes she was wearing.

Her forgetfulness is what spurred her to do it again. Because, it had made her so happy to see that much fire, and if she can't remember it, why not just make it happen again? Just to, you know, bring her some joy. And besides, now that she was making a conscious effort, she would remember every little detail, and she wouldn't have to do it again! And, well, who's going to miss some dumb old garbage bin, anyway?

And after her fifth bin, it turned out that really, _no one_  missed garbage bins! She still spaced them out, and went to different places to do it. Her third time and thus far, she'd gotten in her car to do it someplace farther from her apartment; just in case they really did start investigating. But it really seemed that no one was even trying to catch her!

So in her justification- yes, _technically_  arson is illegal- but no one was catching her and telling her not to, and there was nothing about it anywhere on the news, so really, was it _wrong_?

The first building was an accident too.

It was her sixth endeavor, and she had driven about a mile away- to the back alley of some run down building. It had taken her forever to find an abandoned place with two trash bins, but she'd finally done it. She'd bought a whole new lighter for this, for she planned to use all of the fluid.

She brought a large stack of paper with her. She burned half of it before deciding then was a good time to start on the garbage bins. She made sure thy were filled flammable materials- cardboard and newspaper and the like. She took one sheet of paper, lit the end, watched it for a bit, and then threw it into the bin closest to her. She peered inside and watched as the fire spread to the surrounding cardboard, melting holes and then catching the ends on fire. It took no time at all to spread to the entire surface area of the top of the bin, and she stepped back as she watched the flames grow.

Before she allowed herself to get too entranced, she took another sheet of paper, lit the end, watched it dwindle for a couple seconds, and then threw it into the other, fireless bin. She watched that one spark up as well, and she backed up to watch them, side by side, dance beautifully.

She was so enthralled that she didn't anticipate a startled raccoon scrambling from behind one of the bins and accidentally knocking it over as it ran.

Once it was falling, she backed away and saw the raccoon running away down the alley. She looked to the bins and watched one fall onto the other, and instead of fear, she felt awe and affection for the two fires joining together and making a flame taller than anything she's ever seen. She didn't even mind when it began to catch onto the building- onto pieces of chipped paint, onto wood boards and sills. She just watched as everything lit up.

The only reason she left is because she started to become light headed from the amount of coughing her lungs were doing in reaction to the amounts of smoke. She drove away, shaky and filled with adrenaline, looking in her rear view mirror every so often to watch the building light up more.

She was almost home when she had to pull over at the sound of sirens, watching the trucks rush to the direction she'd just came from.

Then, she didn't do anything for a month. She still bought lighters and lit them at home, watching them until they ran out;but she'd always done that, ever since she was able to walk into a store by herself. She just didn't light anything on fire for a month.

For a month, she was kept alight by the remembrance of the old building being draped with flames, of the two fires of the bins joining each other and making something no short of an ethereal god.

But she was afraid to do anything else. It was all over the news. How it "came out of nowhere" and "we're lucky no one was hurt".

After a month, she wanted to do it again.

So she did. She went farther from her house this time, about three or four miles. She found a building that looked abandoned, found an open window, set a ball of paper on fire, and threw it in.

It took a couple sheets, but she finally did it. She set it on fire. She watched it burn, watched the whole building be blanketed in the glow of fire until she almost passed out from how thick the beautiful scent and gorgeous smoke was.

The next building, she thought it was empty. She really, really did. It was shitty and gross and dirty and _far_  beyond any expectation of what someone would think is abandoned. But when she threw three or four or five sheets of balled up paper coated in fire into the window and it started to light up, she heard screaming.

She didn't give herself the chance to watch the beautiful flames unfold. She ran to her car, lighter and papers in hand. She was shaking and scared and she ran to her car and got the bloody hell out of there.

When she got home, her knees were wobbly and she turned on the news. She sat there for hours, and it took two of said hours for anything about the fire to be said. There was footage- footage of the burning. It was a motel, and there were firefighters with hoses shutting down the beautiful flames, and the sigh of relief when the anchor said "none dead" was the loudest thing Olive has ever heard.

For some reason, she didn't stop. She kept going. She kept setting buildings on fire.

Hey, it's been months, and she hasn't killed anybody. Hurt two or three, yes- but they're lucky to have been kissed by such big, beautiful fires. She doesn't think even she would mind if she were to be burned in her own building.

It's a Friday- a Friday night. A few until midnight. She was going to light another fire, but her lighter ran out of fluid for the third time that week.

She's in line, empty handed and staring at the rack of lighters next to cashier with awe.

When it's her turn, she doesn't need to say anything. The cashier just grabs a hold of the rack and sets it on the counter in reach of Olive.

"Choose which you like." The cashier says, and she sounds far from disinterested.

Olive furrows her brows and looks up to the cashier's face, eyes grazing over a name tag that says 'Emma' on the way. "Pardon?"

"Choose which you like. I'd choose one for you, but you get a different color every time, so I don't know what you want this time." The cashier- Emma, with blonde hair and big eyes- gives an amused and pretty smile.

"Oh, I- I'm sorry, have we met before?" Olive bites her lip, and feels bad for not recognizing her.

Emma gives a laugh and a big smile. "You come in here to buy a lighter like three times a week." Olive is relieved to hear a bit of an accent her voice. Finally, someone with a normal voice. "You don't recognize me? I'm working the register every time you buy one."

"Oh." Olive says, and she can tell her eyes are owlish and her cheeks are pink and she must look like a buffoon. "I'm so sorry, I just- I never-"

"It's okay." Emma gives that tinkle of a laugh again, and it makes Olive's chest light up. "Just choose what you like."

"Alright." Olive is being sheepish, that much she knows. She looks down shyly and goes for a pink one this time, solid and vibrant. When she picks it up, Emma holds out a gentle hand to take it from her and scan it.

"You know," Emma looks to Olive's side to make sure no one is in line behind her. "Zippos last longer. And they're refillable. You've got to be spending a fortune on these little things." She gestures to the lighter that's now resting on the counter after being scanned.

"I don't mind, really. I like the, uh. Differentiation. And I lose them often." She's hesitant to look back up at Emma.

" _Lose_  them?" Emma sounds enthralled. "You must do some serious trapping."

Olive looks up at her, confused. "Some what?"

"You _have_  to smoke with me sometime!" Emma smiles wide.

Olive is at a loss for words. "I- I really don't smoke cigarettes that much-"

Emma gives a boisterous and fun laugh. "Don't act all innocent. If you're losing this many lighters, you've got to be going to some hardcore parties. I have kush, I just don't have a piece-"

" _Kush_?" Olive asks, confused. What even _is_  that?

Emma's smile goes from wide to almost nonexistent. "Oh, you don't smoke weed, do you?"

Olive's eyebrows raise, her eyes widen, and her cheeks go red. "No!" She purses her lips and gets shier. "Is that what trapping means? I didn't know that."

Emma's quiet for a bit before giving an exciting laugh again, and the more she does it, the more exhilarated Olive becomes. "How old are you?"

"Twenty one." Olive says after a bit, embarrassed for being so old.

" _What_? You're only twenty one and you don't know what trapping and kush is?" It's not judgmental or scrutinizing, but it embarrasses Olive nonetheless.

"Why? How old are you?"

Emma gives her a sly and proud grin. "Just turned twenty a month ago." Olive thinks she hears a 'so I'm legal' under Emma's breath, but readily shoves it far into the recesses of her mind so she _doesn't_  consider it. "But if you're not smoking, what are you doing with all of these lighters?"

Olive tries her best not to look like a deer in headlights, and just doesn't answer.

"No answer, huh?" Emma says after a while. She gets a teasing look on her face. "You aren't that arsonist that's running around setting buildings on fire, are you?"

Olive must look terrified, because Emma bursts out laughing.

"Calm down, you, I'm just kidding!" She points at the total on the screen pointed towards Olive. "Dollar even."

Olive smiles timidly and gives a weak laugh before reaching into her purse and grabbing a bill.She hands to Emma gently, and Emma gives her a smile.

"Grab another one. On me." She smiles. "But don't let that keep you from coming back. I like looking at you."

Olive blushes and grabs a blue one with a shy thanks before driving home. She decides not to light anything on fire tonight- Emma gave her enough excitement for one day.

Some part of her is very embarrassed at how school girl the whole ordeal was- how elementary she acted with all f her blushing and timidness. But the other part of her can't wait to go back to that store.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its short

The next night, she set another building on fire. She drove to somewhere far, far more desolate than she usually does. Some old factory or other, abandoned and smack dab in the middle of a dirt lot.

This was the only, only time she had ever not fully enjoyed or not been fully focused on her fire.

She kept thinking about Emma. And that is so, so pathetic.

She just kept thinking about Emma's obvious flirting, about how she accused Olive of being the arsonist (as a joke, but still, Olive _is_  the arsonist), about her big eyes and pretty blonde hair, about her flawless skin, about her calling marijuana kush (if she had just said weed, Olive would have realized and not made a complete fool of herself). But really, most of all- as much as she tried not to- she thought of "so I'm legal". Even when an entire _building_  was on fire.

She lays in bed the night after the building, eyes staring up at her popcorn ceiling as her television- turned on to the local news channel that is, yet again, talking about the fires- acts as background fodder. The anchor is talking about some shoe print or other- Olive isn't too worried, because there's got to be loads of other people with Vans her size, and she just has to be more careful next time- and she just can't find it in her to pay attention at all.

"So I'm legal" plays in her head over and over and over again.

Emma doesn't even know her _name_. And she doesn't know that Olive is literally a _serial arsonist_  who has gotten multiple people sent to the _hospital_. And-

Wait.

What if Olive misinterpreted? What if Emma was just being nice, and the "so I'm legal" was just a joke or something? What if Emma doesn't even like girls? She's _sure_ that no one else in this conservative town is even the slightest bit gay; what would make Emma any different? What if she's only interested in Emma because the guy at her work she fancied is getting married and she just needs someone to take her mind off of him?

Ugh! Olive is sick of "what if"s! She's going to the store right now and asking Emma out. She isn't going to make the same mistake she made with the boy at work.

She springs up with a newfound confidence, shutting off the television and slipping on some shoes. So yeah, she's in her pyjamas, but she couldn't care less.

Before she leaves, she goes into the bathroom to check herself in the mirror, fluffs her hair a little bit and brushes through her bangs, and grabs her keys from the dish as she rushes out. And she may or may not have pushed up her breasts a little and unbuttoned the top button of her pyjama shirt.

The whole drive there is spent with hands tight on the steering wheel and her worrying her lip. The more she drives, the more uncertain she gets. She knows that the worst that can happen is that Emma says no- why is Olive so _embarrassed_? This is all so elementary!

She pulls into the parking lot and parks in a space close to the front. The parking lot is desolate, and checking the clock in her car reveals that it's eight past eleven at night. She looks at the inside, and sees the lights on and no people inside. She can't see the checkout counters from the lot, but she doesn't need to. From what Emma said, it sounds like she's the only person who's checked out Olive at the register. And Olive only buys lighters at night.

She takes a deep inhale, holds her breath, and lifts her fingers to wrap around her keys that are in the ignition.

When she touches the keys, she pauses, and she moves those fingers to her joystick and puts her gear into reverse.

She can't do this.

She drives away.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing on Olive's mind when she wakes up after the initial annoyance at her alarm clock screaming is Emma.

This is literally the worst torch Olive has ever carried in her entire life.

Olive is no stranger to fancies, sure. Or dating, for that matter. In Wales, she'd had plenty of boyfriends and girlfriends alike, and double the amount of crushes. And sure, in the States, it's been more lax, but she's still _had_  some here. The boy in her office, for Christ's sake.

But, this? Emma? This is the most horrible infatuation Olive has ever experienced.

Olive hasn't once woken up with someone first thing on her mind. Not even when she was in actual relationships. Serious ones. And she'd be seventy shades of pissed off if she weren't _eighty_  shades of terrified.

Emma didn't know the first thing about Olive. The _literal_  first thing; her damned name.

This stupid cycle of being anxious and angry about Emma and wanting to light a fire because of it is only greeted with the inability to actually focus on the fire when she lights it, which is obviously an issue, because if she can't _focus_  on the fire, it doesn't actually make her _feel_  any better. Which is the entire point of lighting the fire in the first place; to feel better. And when she doesn't feel better, she wants to light a fire.

This is all a huge lose, lose, lose, lose, lose, lose situation. The losses are never ending, vasting into space and beyond.

And even with all of this mess, Olive still can't find it in her to at least ask her out. Or _tell her her name_!

Olive looks to her alarm clock and slams on the button to stop its incessant yelling. The clock shows her an obnoxious red '7:16', and she sighs, regretfully pushing her blankets off of herself and shakily getting to a sitting position, which honestly took much more effort than it should have. She swings her legs over the bed and places her feet on the floor, reveling in the feeling of her shaggy, soft carpet against her toes.

Standing up is just as difficult as sitting up, and her shoulders pop in relief when she raises her elbows above her head and tugs on them, her back doing the same when she twists in place. It wakes her up a bit, sighing in content.

She sleepily walks to her bathroom, and after taking a wee and washing her hand, she opens the mirror to grab at the couple of orange bottles that clack with pills inside, she turns them to see the labels, and grabs the two she needs to take in the morning and puts the extra back in the cabinet. Popping the lids, she swallows the couple she needs dry, screws the tops back on, and shoves them back in the cabinet haphazardly. Her psychiatrist said that she shouldn't take her pills on an empty stomach, but really, it's not as uncomfortable or painful as he'd made it out to be.

Still, she leaves the bathroom after shutting the cabinet to walk to the kitchen and start on coffee. When the machine's whirring fills the silence of her apartment, she walks to the fridge and opens it, leaning on the door to look at the contents.

She realizes, with a less than happy emotion, that she needs to go to the store. And, because God really does just _love_  her, the store that Emma works at is the cheapest store that sells food. She groans, out loud, because she deserves to. She reaches in for the almost empty bag of bread, and grabs the two slices that aren't the butt of the loaf just in case she chickens out of going to the store after work.

Olive has never been one to _enjoy_  her job per se, considering that pretty much everyone grows up fearing that they'll be stuck at a nine to five with mediocre pay and equally mediocre coworkers- which is exactly what happened to her- but she looks forward to the potential distraction anyways.

Maybe writing some reports for whatever accidents she has to read and notify the attorneys about will be enough to distract her from Emma. Hell, if she's lucky, the office will do its main job for Olive and make her want to set fire to something, and she'll actually be able to enjoy it.

Which is, certainly, something strange to consider "lucky".

She sticks the bread in the toaster and sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its a little short, sorry about that. i have the next chapter written already but im waiting until i have the next chapter of my other fic in this series written before i post it
> 
> tumblr: @memekasasha


	4. Chapter 4

Work does not, in fact, do absolutely jack shit to distract her from Emma. Every time she had to type "exception", "exempt", "enable", or any other bloody word beginning with the letter "e", she accidentally typed "emma" first. Every time. Every damned time!

For eight straight hours- eight hours that are usually _already_ near insufferable- she thought of blonde hair and big eyes and a fun smile. And, something both simultaneously extremely shocking and not shocking at all, is that she was _mad_  when the boy she used to fancy even _tried_ to talk to her. Few words in at ten o'clock, he must have noticed the irritation in her voice, and no one else talked to her for the rest of the work day. So she was forced to sit in her cubicle, stewing and slamming angrily at her keyboard.

When she gets off at five, she gets stuck in rush hour traffic- something that God decided she really did need- and doesn't make it home until an hour later. Changing into relaxing clothes and slipping off her heels relieves some of her stress, but even by the time she's changed, she still has a grinding headache. After swallowing a couple aspirin, she checks the time to see '6:22', and begrudgingly decides she's going to visit the store around nine. Just some time to ensure that Emma will be working, is all. Because she really is not putting it off. She isn't.

Killing the time is easy, and she nearly falls asleep on her couch as she watches television. Only at fifteen to nine is when she begins feeling jittery, with butterflies in her stomach and twitching fingers. But she did, in fact, already decide earlier that she would go, and flaking on oneself is the worst kind of flaking.

The drive is spent with dark, empty roads and an overplayed song on the radio. She recognizes somewhere that she desperately wants to change the station, and has since she turned on the radio for the first time in this car, but somehow never does it.

Only when she's in the parking lot of the store, parked towards the front and looking inside of the empty building, is when she begins doubting. She wants to drive away so badly, the urge almost overwhelming. She almost gets herself to drive away again, but she thinks of her fridge, and she misses having bread, and yogurt, and butter, and cheese, and milk, and she thinks of how her wallet would cry if she went to any other store.

She painfully and bordering on regretfully pulls her keys out oher car and steps out. Usually, Olive feels self conscious in tank tops, but feeling the weather has her glad she's wearing one. The humid, muggy, almost-summer air hits her, and shuddering, she slams her door and hurries to the entrance of the store. It's not much better inside, honestly, but she appreciates it anyway.

Picking out groceries takes longer than she wishes (because she may or may not have stopped by the vegetables for ten minutes just to feel the cool air on her body), and she gets much more than she intended, but the irritation pales in comparison to the nervousness that overcomes her as she walks up to the only open register with a full cart. And, of course, the cashier is Emma.

"Well hey there!" She grins when she sees Olive, the sides of her eyes scrunching happily with her smile. Olive wants to die. "You're buying something other than lighters, I see."

Olive smiles back, much shier than Emma, as she begins unloading her cart onto the belt. "Can't eat lighters."

It's really not even that funny, but Emma's laugh is hearty and boisterous despite. It sprouts plants in Olive's lungs and clogs her throat.

She hears the beeping of items being scanned when Emma talks again. "You know, I don't think I caught your name."

Oh, Lord, finally. "Olive." She responds as she places the last of her items onto the belt.

Emma oohs as she continues to scan and Olive walks to the checkout machine. "Pretty name."

Olive blushes, and she's glad Emma is looking at the groceries rather than Olive's face. "Thanks. Emma's a nice name, too."

"Well, thanks, cutie!" She's smiling still, but also still, she looks down at the groceries. Olive feels her cheeks get even warmer and she purses her lips. She doesn't know what to say to that, so she just clasps her hands together in front of herself and twiddles her thumbs. When Emma picks up another box to scan it, she stops, and just looks at it for a second. She reads it for a bit and then looks up to Olive, who's getting worried. "Are these..." Emma holds up the box and gives an amused, wide smile. "Are you buying Danimals? Like, for yourself?"

Olive purses her lips again before speaking up. "Um... Yes?"

Emma laughs louder than Olive's ever heard her, and Olive doesn't think she can get much redder at this point.

"Hey, they're - they're nice snacks for work. They're really good." Emma's laugh is so wonderfully contagious and beautiful that Olive can't keep the smile off of her face.

"That's just-" Emma fits between laughs. "That's so cute!" She snorts during a laugh, which seems to make her just laugh harder, and Olive wonders if it's illegal for someone to be so utterly adorable. Olive begins to laugh too; a much tamer laugh than Emma's, for sure, but a happy one nonetheless. Her eyes scrunch up and her teeth expose themselves, and she can hardly see with the way she has her eyes scrunched, but she can't help it. Emma's laugh begins to die down, and she's out of breath when she talks again. "Oh, man. You're so cute." She shakes her head, and is still laughing slightly.

Emma's cheeks are red from what Olive presumes from laughter, and Olive's cheeks are red from some unbelievable mix of embarrassment and flattery.

She gets the courage to ask when Emma's scanning the Danimals box with a smile on her face.

"Do you like girls?" Olive blurts, and she thoroughly realizes the second after she's said it that there are probably a million and one better ways she could have worded that.

Emma looks up at her in a bit of shock, eyebrows raised, and Olive smacks a hand over her mouth. She's about to apologize when, by such a kind grace of God, Emma smiles. "Well, I thought that much was obvious." At Olive's blush, Emma's smile gets happier. "You especially, I'd have to say. I've been hitting on you pretty hardcore."

Olive's face gets warmer and she ducks her head just slightly to move her hand from her mouth so she can push a bit of hair behind her ear. Which is certainly on the more cliche side of gestures she could have done, but she couldn't help it. "Oh."

"I'm taking that you share my sentiment?" Olive wonders how someone with as much charm as Emma would even care to talk to her.

"I'd be a liar if I said no." Olive says in a shaky and flustered voice. She looks up at Emma through her lashes, lifting her head slightly to see Emma giving her a tender smile.

"You know, I decide when to close up shop." Emma's smile makes Olive's stomach tremble. "The night is young, if you're up for it?"

Olive's breath hitches, and she tries her best not to jump up and cheer. "Uh, yes. That sounds nice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i posted this with my phone so if theres mistakes u know why


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dw a chapter of this ones sister fic is Comin Soon

Emma is a doll, and helps Olive put her groceries away after she locks up the store real quick ("Carlene can deal with the mess when she opens tomorrow; I hate having to pack everything away anyway", she'd said). She follows Olive's car to her apartment, and makes a grand show of trying to get all of the bags up to the top floor of the apartment building via stairs in one trip. (It does not work, and seeing Emma tired and apologizing simply because she couldn't get all ten bags up in one go is cute enough to give Olive butterflies.)

She helps Olive put everything away, and when they're finished, they bounce around ideas of where to go. When Emma says the name of a diner Olive's only ever heard in passing, Olive says she's never been there, and Emma instantly decides that that is where they will go because the food is "spectacular and I can't believe you've never had it".

They take Emma's car; and Emma's car is, to put it bluntly, dirty. It smells faintly of cigarettes, but the smell of nicotine is strongly overpowered by cherry air fresheners clipped to the vents. She has water bottles all over the floor and the dashboard is covered in papers. As Olive sits in the front seat, she's tempted to look through them.

"What are all these?" Olive questions, resisting the want to reach out and rifle through them, opting on instead just pointing to them. Emma glances from the road to where Olive is pointing.

"Oh, lots of stuff. Mainly schoolwork and prescriptions."

Oh. Prescriptions.

Maybe Olive shouldn't touch on that.

So she opts on talking about the schoolwork instead.

"Schoolwork? You're still in school?"

"You aren't?"

Olive gets embarrassed. No, she isn't.

She _planned_  on it when she moved to the States. She _had_  plans. But instead, "No, I work for State All Insurance."

Emma giggles. "Nice, that's my insurance. You don't need college for that?"

"Not to be a secretary, no."

"What made you want to be a secretary?"

Olive purses her lips. "Well, 'want' is a strong word, I would say."

Emma hums knowingly. "So I'm assuming that means rent."

Olive laughs. "You're good at assuming."

Emma throws Olive a smile. "Hey, if you're here, it's payin' enough, right?"

"Enough." She agrees. "I'm doing just fine. It's really not _that_  bad, I just have other things I'd rather do."

"Hey, I get it. Working at a market and getting paid a smidge above minimum isn't ideal either, but just the same, it gets me a roof and a sandwich." Olive hums an agreement to that. "What would you rather be doing? Than being a sexy secretary."

Olive blushes. "Well, when I was a kid, I always wanted to be a teacher."

"A teacher!" Emma says incredulously. "For what?"

"Well, I like kids, so probably first or second grade."

Olive sees Emma cringe at that, but she recovers quickly. "Cute!"

Olive smiles. "You don't like kids, do you?"

Emma sighs with relief and a grin when she sees Olive's face. "God, no. I hate kids."

She laughs again. "What are studying to be, then?"

"Well, it's a little embarrassing, because it's kind of far fetched, but I'm getting my aviation degree. Gonna try and be a pilot and stuff."

Olive's eyes widen. Oh. "Oh, wow. I didn't expect that."

Emma snickers. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Not that."

"That's fair." She hums as she pulls into the parking lot of the diner. "A lot of people don't see me flying a plane, exactly."

Olive unbuckles her seat belt when Emma kills the engine. "Well, I didn't mean it like that. I just mean, I don't exactly know a lot of pilots. It's not the first thing that comes to my mind when I think of pretty, young girl's careers." She bounces out of the car the same time as Emma, and Emma has a smile on her face when she looks over at Olive again.

"See, now there is one of many reasons as to why I should definitely become a pilot. How often do you hear about a short blonde girl becoming a _pilot_?"

Olive grins. "Not often, I'll give you that."

"You are correct. _Not_  often." She locks the car and begins to skip to the front entrance. It causes Olive to giggle and follow after.

The diner is fairly barren save for an elderly couple or two and two boys dressed in dark colors laughing with each other. They go to the bored looking hostess, who shows them to a table closer to the two boys than to the seniors.

"So. You've _never_  been here before?" Emma asks as she leans forward on her elbows closer to Olive.

"Why, I can't say I have." She glances to the menu. "What do you suggest I have?"

"Well, other than me, I'd recommend their chicken. They make some _pretty_  bomb chicken."

Olive gives a nod, and gets out a "Then I guess-" before stopping dead in her tracks and rewinding Emma's words in her head to repeat the 'well, other than me'. She feels her cheeks get hotter than the sun, and Emma definitely notices. She gives a hearty laugh and pats Olive's hand.

"I was _kidding_ , honey, I promise."

Olive laughs and puts her head in her hands. " _Jeez_ , you're good with words. You always know how to embarrass me."

"Better than your average date, I'm praying."

Olive moves one hand down to the table to drum her fingers, leaving the other one propping her head up. "God, I can hardly even remember my last date. But yes, I would have to say that you are better than the average Wales schoolboy and schoolgirl."

"Flattering." Emma chuckles. "Wales, huh? Was wondering where that accent came from."

"Ah, yes. The dreaded accent."

"Dreaded?" Emma sounds surprised.

"Yes! My boss and HR rep think it's the funniest thing since sliced bread. Bloody irritating, is what it is."

Emma's following laugh crinkles the corners of her eyes and her nose. "'Bloody'! I've only ever heard my dad and grandparents say that."

"What, your dad says that?"

"Yup, my dad's a really British guy. Thick, thick accent- it's where I get my lilt from. Was homeschooled 'til middle school, you see. So for a real long time, almost the only people I ever heard talk was my dad. And my dad's folks."

"Mum?" Olive only realizes the question is rude when she hears the answer.

"Six feet under. Kicked the bucket during childbirth, and all that jazz."

Olive gasps, and covers her mouth with her hands. "Oh my, I am _so_  sorry, that was so rude of me-"

Emma- shockingly- smiles. "No worries. Not like I knew her. I feel worse for my dad." Emma pops her lips. "But enough about my story. I'm more interested in yours."

She sets her hands down on the table. "Well, that's because you know yours already."

She hums. "This is true. Tell me about your folks. They live back in Wales?"

Olive considers just lying, but finds it easier to let Emma know. "Probably. Can't imagine they moved."

"Not in touch?"

"No, they don't care for me much."

Emma looks taken aback. "What?"

Olive shrugs. "Oh, I was a bit of a problem child. Set fires as a kid, never had very many friends. Last straw for them was when they found out I was with a sweet lass I knew from school when I was seventeen. They gave me the boot when they caught me snogging her in my bedroom." The memory makes her blush, and she ponders if this is really first date material.

Emma's next inhalation is sharp and shaky, and she reaches for Olive's hand. "I'm so sorry, love. That's a crummy tale if I've ever heard one."

"Not too big of a deal, in my opinion. They were soddy parents anyway. Caused a lot of things wrong up here." She taps her head. "Been better ever since I moved to the States."

"Well, I'll say. You've got a bitching apartment, and a pretty face. Set fires as a kid though, huh?"

Olive grins. "Always been a tad of a pyromaniac, I suppose. Love the way it looks and smells and feels. Comes with some extreme consequences, however."

"Ah, so here I am witnessing the inner workings and complications of being a pyromaniac. Tell me all about it."

And before Olive can, a tired looking waitress comes to the table.

"Sorry about the wait, ladies. Would y'all like anything to drink?"

Emma orders a coffee, and Olive gets a water. She doesn't want to make the bill terribly expensive for Emma.

When the waitress walks away, the two notice immediately that the two boys close by them are staring at them.

"Ah, shit." Emma grumbles under her breath.

The elfish looking boy with bright blue eyes is the one to speak up. "Hey." He gives what hardly counts as a smile. "I'm Jake. What's your guys' names?"

Olive has to refrain her face from cringing, but luckily Emma is the one to speak up.

"Not interested, thanks. We're already on a date."

Jake's eyes widen, and the other boy snorts a laugh.

"No, no, no, no- I'm- no, us too, I swear."

" _Us too_?" The other boy harshly whispers.

Jake ignores him. "We were just interested that you guys were talking about fire, is all."

Olive gets excited. "Oh, are you a fan of fire, too?"

"Yeah, I suppose you could say that."

The other boy speaks up. "Fan of the fires that've been poppin' up in places 'round here." He has a thick Scottish accent and a pretty face.

Olive feels half proud and half afraid. "Yes, those. Interesting, aren't they? I'll be quite honest, they're a marvel to look at on the telly. Wish I could see them in person, honestly."

"Ever seen one in person?" The Scottish one asks. He sounds accusatory, and Olive doesn't exactly appreciate it.

"What, a fire?"

"One of the arson fires." He specifies. Olive is getting uncomfortable.

She briefly wonders if he's a cop. She tries to tell herself that that's farfetched, and she's being paranoid. But if- on the off chance, somehow- he is, and she does end up getting caught for her fires, she finds it in her best interest to tell the truth.

"Yes, I have. The first building was close to my apartment." And neither of the statements are false; they're just not very related.

"You've only seen that one?" His eyes narrow, and Olive feels both offended and nervous.

Emma must see it on Olive's face, and crosses her arms. "What is this, an interrogation? Leave her alone."

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. "Sorry, sorry. Curious, is all."

"Excuse my date." Jake comes to the rescue. "Enoch, here- a beautiful man most definitely, but I swear he has zero tact."

The Scottish one- Enoch, apparently- guffaws at Jake, and looks extremely offended.

"Charming." Emma snaps. "Now, lads, I'm not sure what a date means to _you_ , but to _me_ , it means spending quality time with your date and _not_  eavesdropping on conversations going on around you. Now, unless you're feds, do us a solid and leave us alone, would you?"

"Actually, we-" Jake starts, but Enoch interrupts.

"You're upset. I apologize, that was neither of our intentions. It's just that we really are very interested in the fires. I just thought you might be the one starting them, is all. I was going to ask how you get away with it."

Olive's fingers twitch, and she doesn't know how to feel or what to say. So she opts on just humming with pursed lips.

When Jake speaks up, it's through gritted teeth. "Well, he and I best be off. It was nice meeting you, uh..." He looks to Olive and trails off.

Olive's politeness is overwhelming, and she can't help it when she says it. "Olive."

"Right." Jake smiles and looks to Emma. "And..."

"None of your business." She gives an overly sweet, sarcastic smile. Olive has a hard time choking back a giggle.

"Right." Jake places some bills on the table and hops out of the booth, Enoch following shortly after.

"Pleasure." Enoch says as he walks away.

"Unfortunately, not particularly reciprocated." Emma says under her breath when the two leave through the door.

Olive doesn't bother smothering the laugh this time.

"What a hot mess those two were." Emma rolls her eyes. "You know, this isn't even the first time I've had two men ruin a perfectly fine date for me."

Olive snorts and raises her eyebrows. "Really."

"Yes, I-"

The waitress chooses then to come back and slide the drinks on Emma and Olive's table, giving an exhausted smile. "Y'all ready to order?"

Olive orders the chicken.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this might be over soon? maybe. idk. read the sister fic i say this on it also
> 
> also BIG BIG warning for mentions of suicide and light mentions of self harm!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i dont recommend reading if u are currently really struggling with these issues

Olive goes home with Emma.

Emma has a cozy, small house in a fairly empty neighborhood. It's a rental, she'd said. It's two bedrooms, one bathroom- hardly bigger than Olive's apartment. It's nice. The floors are soft and the white walls are covered in some stains- some of which Emma explained (the one behind the television is when Emma got so mad at a movie while eating ice cream that she threw her spoon at the telly and got strawberry ice cream all over the wall and couldn't clean it all up).

Olive is sure that both Emma and herself weren't planning on too vanilla of an evening, but such happens anyway.

When they originally walk inside, Emma is first adamant on giving a tour that ended in Emma's bedroom.

They both kiss like desperate teenagers at first, but both agree that sex is a bit soon. Emma had said that she doesn't want this to be a hook up, and Olive wholeheartedly agrees. _Badly_.

So that's where the small talk started.

Emma had already taken her shirt off when they stopped, and didn't bother to put it back on, simply laying back down next to Olive on her bed in a brazier.

"What's your favorite color?" Is what Emma opens with.

Olive laughs. "Favorite color is what you ask first? Not last name, or zodiac sign, or religion?"

Emma turns on her side to prop her head on her hand and look at Olive. Olive turns her head to look over at Emma. "Tell me those too, then."

Olive, while also laughing at that, is a bit endeared. "Well. My favorite color is pink. I have two last names; Abroholos-Elephanta. My zodiac sign is a taurus. And my parents were heavy Christians, but I lean more towards the atheist side, honestly." She smiles softly. "Your turn."

Emma smiles back and hums in thought. "Well. I'd have to say my favorite color is blue. My last name is Bloom, my zodiac sign is virgo, and I'm going to have to agree with you on the religion. My dad goes to church every Sunday, but I can't be bothered. No point- if there is a God, I'm sure I'm going to Hell anyway."

Olive chuckles. "Hey, don't say that. What makes you think a saint like you is going to Hell?"

Emma laughs. "My whole life, dear. Even ignoring the fact I dig ladies, I also don't like kids, have tried to kill myself, and eat lots and lots of shrimp."

Olive can't laugh. She can't smile. "Tried to kill yourself?" She asks, and immediately regrets it when she says it. Emma's face falls, and Olive realizes that Emma probably slipped up when she said it. "Oh Christ, I'm so sorry. You don't need to elaborate."

Emma shrugs as best she can in her position when she recovers her face. "Not a worry. It's not a big deal, anyway. Was a while ago- I was fifteen. I was in a pretty bad place at the time- trying to repress my sexuality, trying to figure out what to do with my life, trying to make myself into someone I wasn't. Just got too much for me, is all. Harmed myself for a few months- it made it a tad better, but then I just thought my best solution would be to just swallow a bottle of aspirin and be done with it." She sighs. "But it didn't work. I probably would have died if my dad hadn't come home early from work that day and saw the pill bottle. That day's a bit fuzzy, probably from the aspirin, but I do remember going to the hospital and throwing up a lot. And boy, was I _dizzy_. _Really_  dizzy. I couldn't get up for days."

Olive almost starts crying.

"Course, after my stay in the actual hospital, my dad insisted I go to a mental one right after. Stayed there for about a week, and got prescribed a couple different medications. Turns out, after an analysis, I had quite a few issues. Depression, anxiety, ADHD, OCD. I was prescribed about five medications, and I've been on them ever since. That's what the prescriptions on my dash are for, by the way."

Olive is almost speechless. "I'm so sorry, love. That's horrible."

Emma smiles. "Worse things have happened in the world."

"That doesn't mean that that isn't a bad thing."

Emma tries to shrug again. "I suppose." She clicks her tongue. "But I don't want to talk about _me_. I'm boring. What's some of your baggage?"

Olive only finds it fair she talks about her mental issues too. "Well, I have depression too, so that's pretty cool that we match. Anxiety, too. Got PTSD from a crummy thing that happened when I was younger. But those are my only mental issues. Haven't been admitted to a hospital, haven't tried to kill myself, haven't harmed myself."

Emma hums. "You know, I think we could use some drinks."

Olive furrows her brows as Emma gets up. "Aren't you only twenty?"

"You bet." She says, going down the hall towards her kitchen. Olive follows.

"Then how do you get drinks?"

Emma grabs a bottle of wine from a cabinet above her fridge and a couple glasses from a cabinet over. "I frequently close up shop all by myself. It's no issue grabbing a bottle of Merlot or Fireball on my way out."

Olive laughs. "Doesn't that cause shrink or something?"

"Sure." She opens the wine bottle with a pop and pours two glasses, both a bit fuller than they probably should be. "I just don't care. My paycheck isn't affected." She hands one glass to Olive and takes the other. "Besides, sometimes I put some money in the register to compensate. I'm an ethical person, occasionally."

Emma takes a sip of her wine and Olive hums. "Fair enough, I suppose." She takes a sip herself. "But you don't have to do that anymore. I'll buy you drinks, if you like."

Emma smiles around her glass. "You really are a peach."

Olive blushes. "Thanks." Is all she can say.

Olive is invited to stay over, and the next morning, when she has a bit of a headache from too much wine the night prior, she calls her boss to say she's going to be missing a day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its so short! :(

The talk is not far dissimilar from last night's, at first. They're sitting on Emma's couch, watching some silly cartoon that Emma swears by. They sit on opposite ends, their legs tangled together.

"What's your shoe size?" Emma asks out of nowhere, and Olive looks from the telly to Emma.

She can't help but smile. "Always the weirdest openers with you, isn't it? No parents' names, no asking about pets. My favorite color and my shoe size is what you ask about it."

"Hey, I said it last night and I'll say it again. You can tell me _all_  of those things and I'd be ecstatic."

Olive tries to sigh, but it comes out as a laugh. "Alright. Well, I'm a size nine for the most part, dipping into the ten occasionally. My dad's name is Emmett and my mum's name is Theresa. I had a dog when I lived back in Wales, but since moving here, I've yet to get another." The intrigue in Emma's eyes is not only shocking, but endearing and- if Olive's being completely honest- bloody attractive. "How about you?"

She leans back into the arm of the couch her back is resting on. "Well, I have much smaller feet than you do. My weak feet are only size five. And that's on a good day." Olive laughs at that. "My dad's name is Conrad and my mum's name was Cornelia. And I used to have a cat when I was young, but not anymore." She shrugs. "It died, as most things tend to do."

Olive smiles at that, unsure of how to feel, but not quite uncomfortable.

"Talk about your parents." Emma says, tilting her head and looking enthralled just staring at Olive's disheveled, ungroomed appearance.

Olive laughs. Oh, _they're_  a tale. "Well, they taught me that if I've nothing nice to say, I've nothing to say at all."

Emma pretend winces, and follows it with a giggle. "A burn on them, for sure. Are they really that bad?" Olive flips on the question a bit, and at her hesitation, Emma corrects herself. "Of course, if that's a touchy subject-"

"Oh, no," Olive stops her. "That's not it at all. Thought of them does little more for me than just make me irritated. I've since gotten over the whole 'boo-hoo they're bad people' thing."

Emma's confused looks is what spurs her.

"The thing about my folks is that... Well, they were never very good parents." She huffs, and her original statement stands strong. She feels little more than irritation. "I remember being very young, and wanting to go out, but they would refuse." She fiddles with her thumbs- messing with the nails out of an angry habit. "And it wasn't like any other child I knew then. Their parents wouldn't let them go out because they wanted their child safe, they had plans, etcetera. But my parents were never like that. They simply said 'you can't' without looking from their work. Without any explanation. Why, they're probably half the reason I didn't have any friends."

Emma looks speechless. So Olive continues, because she keeps thinking of things to say. Things she needs to say.

"They were also a _very_  religious couple. Couldn't take a step in my house without landing eyes on a new cross on the wall or on the shelf or any other bloody place. They both loved Jesus far more than they loved me. Or each other, for that matter. There was nothing more important to them. I could die and they would still say that it was God's plan and had to be done. Maybe that's even what they were hoping for. I don't know.

"As I grew older, their distance from me stopped hurting. In fact, I _wanted_  them out of my life; away from me. I had a house and food, and that's all they were to me. House, food, and church. They weren't a family. _We_  weren't a family. And if we're being honest, I'm still fuzzy on what a family is even supposed to mean." She sighs, looking at Emma's roof. "Of course, whenever I was asked in school about a family, I would say one mum and one dad. Like every other kid, minus the brother or the sister. But then on mother's day or father's day, we would make presents for our folks; and I'd see the other children give their parents the gifts, see the parents' faces light up and see them hug. But when I would go home and show _my_  parents, they couldn't even be bothered to lift their bloody eyes from their stupid, bloody work. And just ever since I was little, I knew that they weren't _normal_  parents. And given all of my absurdities- pyromania, liking women equally to men, and then, to top it all off, bad parents, I was doomed to become this mess." She huffs, crossing her arms in not any sense of sadness, but of contempt. "This stupid, accented arsonist working a nine to five in America with no friends."

She was rambling of course, so she didn't notice anything _wrong_  with her last statement.

Not until Emma hesitantly says, "Arsonist?"

Olive's blood runs cold and her heart turns to concrete. Her lungs plug shut and she goes a bit lightheaded.

And she's never been one for swearing, but: fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

She hadn't meant it- hadn't meant to say it at _all_.

She tries to form words- something, _anything_  that would make it seem like she's not the _serial fucking arsonist who's burned down buildings and sent people to the hospital_. But all she does is open and close her mouth, identical to a dying fish snared on a fishing line; bloody flopping around, unable to breathe, wanting to leave.

"Just-" She tries to take a breath, but it's shaky. "Just kidding!" She tries to force out a laugh, and it becomes very high in pitch. "Oh- 'arsonist', did you..." She tries to get out another one, but she knows she just sounds like she's dying. "Did you believe  _that_  one? Truly just an exaggeration, love! A hyperbole is all it was. I mean- there was this _one_ time when I was sixteen, but I'm not- not- an _actual_ -"

"You're the serial arsonist, aren't you? That's burning buildings." Emma says; not accusatory, not rude, not even curious. She just _says_.

Olive feels herself start to get dizzy. "Oh, wow, that is a-" She cuts herself off with a croak in her own throat, but speaks over it quickly. "A very _strong_  accusation-"

"You are." Emma says, and Olive _can't decipher what fucking emotion Emma is portraying_. "I figured, though. Not solid, of course, but I had a fair guess. You smell like fire, and you buy so many lighters. The way your whole face lights up when you talk about fire..." Emma trails off, and then shows the first emotion Olive can recognize. She smiles. "It's gorgeous. It's enthralling. It's alluring. _Arousing_ , even."

Olive is blushing, and can't think of a word to say or sound to make.

"Also, you just said your shoe is a nine. The footprint found at one of the latest fires was a nine in women's."

She croaks, and all she can think to say is, "I haven't confessed to anything, now-"

Emma leans forward with a wide smile. "You don't need to. The way your expression brightened at the mention of the serial fires last night; the way your whole body perked and your cheeks changed color. I could tell. I'd have to be blind and deaf to not see it." She trails her hands so they're on Olive's legs. "And, dear, I'm going to tell you right now, I _love_  bad girls. Especially ones that can be complete angels when they need to."

Olive gets gooseflesh, and her face feels like it's in an oven. "I- I-"

"If you're worried that I mind or will turn you in or whatever; I don't and won't. This honestly is one of the _hottest_  things I've ever witnessed."

Olive finds herself restraining her own body from jumping forward and snogging Emma. From kissing her until she's speechless and breathless, until the only sound either of them can make is moans.

"Can I come with you next time? The next time you light one on fire?"

" _Yes_." Olive responds immediately, imagining Emma in the orange and yellow glow of a raging fire, cigarette hanging out of her mouth and hair tousled. "Oh God, _absolutely_ , _please_  yes."

"Good _lord_  I want to kiss you right now." Emma says, breathless.

"What's stopping you?" Olive finds herself saying. It's the riskiest, most ballsy thing Olive has ever said. And it has Emma reaching across the couch in seconds, meeting lips with Olive.

They kiss so roughly that Olive has to lay down on the arm of the couch, Emma following. Olive's hands are on Emma's jaw, and Emma's hands are on Olive's waist, and everything feels electric.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys. theres sex now. in both fics

The rest of the day was _excruciating_. It was spent with Olive and Emma snogging the life out of each other at sporadic intervals, their sessions always having to be stopped by one of the participants due to the promise that this was certainly going to be a _lot_  hotter immediately after they lit a fire together.

So when the clock strikes midnight, Olive and Emma are immediately out of Emma's house, Emma grabbing her coat and a pack of cigarettes and Olive grabbing a hair tie. Olive gives directions, and brings a short stack of papers Emma had laying around in one of her school notebooks.

When they get to a fairly empty lot, one that Olive knows with certainty is vacant and desolate, she steps out of the car with shaky hands and wobbly knees.

Olive talks as she begins to walk up to the building, not really looking at Emma following her, for she's too ecstatic at the thought that she's _finally_  going to enjoy lighting a building on fire after meeting Emma. "So, what I do when there's no bins and I'm only setting a building," She says, setting down the stack on the dirt and then ties her hair up. She glances behind her to find Emma over her shoulder, watching with fascination and arousal. She grabs a sheet of paper from the stack on the ground and fishes a lighter out of her pocket. "Is I make sure there are wooden floors, an open window, and curtains." All of which she knows to be true of this building. "Then I crumple a paper," She does, feeling the wrinkles prod her skin. "Hold it between my fingers so as not to hurt myself when I set it," She does, sparking the lighter and bringing the flame to the wad of paper. It sets easy, as most tend to do. "I watch the flame for a bit," This part she says a bit breathlessly as she gets a bit enamored with watching the fire devour the paper greedily. "And when I'm ready," Just as the heat of the flame begins to scrape her fingers, she swings her hand back and throws the paper into the open window, feeling the fire lick at her fingertips, setting her nerves ablaze right alongside it.

Emma gasps, softly, when the paper disappears almost unseen behind the wall beneath the window. All that's visible is an orange glow that's hardly growing.

"I'm going to do one more, then you can do one. Alright?" She says, not looking behind her in favor of bending down to pick up another paper.

She repeats the process, and with Emma here, breathing hard almost next to her, each step has arousal shooting down her spine and pooling in her stomach, making her feel like the fire isn't in her hand, but in her entrails.

When she tosses in the second one, the warm glow in the building grows brighter, just slightly.

She steps back, letting Emma walk shakily to the stack of papers and pick one up. Watching her wad a ball in her fist is _much_  more arousing than Olive knows it should be, and when she passes the paper from one hand to another, reaching out the previous sexy hand in question as a gesture for the lighter, Olive's stomach _throbs_.

She hands Emma the lighter, having to refrain herself from sighing as her warm, rawing fingers brush the cool clamminess of Emma's palm.

Watching Emma light the paper and observe the flame make its rapid way down nearly has Olive coming.

When Emma then reels back her arm and lobs the paper into the window, Olive squeaks in excitement.

The glow becomes stronger and wider, indicating that the wooden floor is beginning to give way to the fire.

"Do another." Olive chokes out, breathless.

And she rakes her eyes over Emma's every movement as she does. The orange paired with the pale skin of her arm in the dark night is more beautiful than any other work of art to ever grace the planet.

The one she throws last is the one that does it.

Emma misses the toss just perfectly so that it snags on one of the curtains hanging limply at the edge of the inner side of the window and back down to the floor.

The drapery goes up in flames immediately, covered so much with cobwebs and dust that it almost looks like it explodes. Both of the girls make sounds of surprise and delight when the fire erupts, and Olive's mouth dries. The second curtain soon follows due to the proximity of the other, and when they're both in flames, they fall to the ground behind the window, sending sparks in the air and the orange glow brighter and higher. The flames decorating the floor are getting high enough to see from outside, the tapered ends dancing up and down, teasing Olive's sight.

They stand there a few minutes, silent, as they watch the building slowly become engulfed with flames. The fire roars out of the window, booming out a deep, thunderous cry that's music to Olive's ears. Black smoke billows out above the flames, going up into the night sky splattered with white stars quickly turning gray, to a point where it's almost poetic.

When Olive's eyes begin to strain and ache at the prolonged sight of such bright hues, she looks over to Emma.

Even when her sight is swarmed with a fuzzy green, making everything look like water, she's able to register how fucking _sexy_  Emma looks in the warm glow.

"Every time I saw these things on the telly." Emma says, reaching a hand in her jacket pocket to grab her box of cigarettes, and she walks closer to the fire, getting close, dangerously close, and she's _right_  next to the fire and Olive is so _aroused_ , and taps out a single cigarette. "I've wanted to do this." She puts the pack back in her pocket, and wedges the cigarette between two slim fingers.

She pushes her hand forward so, _so_  close to the fire, and when the tip of the flames lick the end of the cigarette, lighting it up to where it's almost in flames, Emma snatches her hand back and blows on the fire, leaving only a light glow on the tip of the browned cigarette.

And then, she brings the cigarette to her lips, and breathes in a heady drag.

Olive's heart stops as she watches Emma's diaphragm suck in the perverted air, watches as Emma closes her eyes to hold her breath, and watches as Emma breathes out, smoke pooling out of her mouth and nose.

"Fuck." She mumbles with a fucked out look on her face. "God, that felt good."

"Emma." Olive says, breathless, and when Emma turns around to face Olive a bit more head on, it knocks the wind completely out of her.

Emma's cheeks are flushed, her eyes lidded and her lips giving way to a slight smile. She's breathing languidly, and her shoulders are just barely trembling. Her hand holding her smoking cigarette is wobbly. Her cleavage pokes just barely out of her top, accented perfectly by the light of the fire. The glow frames her face heavenly, accentuating her eyes and jaw and lips.

Her _lips_.

As she feels the heat and smells the smoke, she almost whines. "Oh God. Oh God Emma, you're so gorgeous."

"That's my line." Emma breathes out, looking completely enraptured by the sight of just plain, ordinary Olive.

They both reach forward, and before Olive can kiss her, Emma puts the cigarette in Olive's mouth and holds it there. Olive is startled at first, but taking the inhale and feeling the lightheadedness along with the scorch of the fire on her side, she trembles, and everything feels _perfect_. Her eyes slide closed, and she holds the breath in as long as she can, tasting the bitter taste of nicotine as she exhales.

When she opens her eyes, she sees Emma, still holding the cigarette to Olive's lips. In Emma's eyes is something primal. Something animistic. Something _aroused_. Olive is about to take another drag, but apparently Emma doesn't consider the cigarette worth it anymore, for she simply tosses it in the fire and slams her lips against Olive's.

It catches her off guard, but quickly Olive is responding, pressing back deeply and tasting nicotine on Emma's teeth. They're both desperately grabbing at each other and feeling each other, everything tastes like tobacco and smells like smoke and it's Nirvana. They're both warm, and Olive nearly feels sparks come out of Emma's fingertips as they clasp onto the back of Olive's head, into her hair. Olive reciprocates, running her fingers through the plush of Emma's hair and feeling the warmth slip between her fingers.

Her side facing the fire feels like it's lighting up, igniting a similar feeling in her stomach and groin. As their mouths move against one another, all Olive can feel is _warm_ , _warm_ , _warm_.

Olive pulls away, much as she loathes to do so. She breathes in heavily, tasting and smelling the smell of burning much over the taste of the cigarette. "We need to go before the firemen arrive."

Emma doesn't do anything but breathe heavy and nod enthusiastically, pupils dilated to all hell and cheeks flushed.

They both rush to Emma's car, and Emma pulls out of there faster than anyone Olive's ever seen.

"Jesus Christ." Emma breathes as she drives a good fifteen above the speed limit. "Do you even know how much I want to fuck you right now?"

Olive _whimpers_ , the words having her groin sobbing. " _Yes_. I do."

And it takes a lot of courage, but somehow hardly any self convincing, to move her hand closest to Emma onto Emma's pajama clothed thigh.

The gesture has Emma sucking in a shaky breath, eyes widening. The reaction is enough fuel to have Olive dragging her hand a bit higher- a bit closer to Emma's vagina.

"Oh God, Olive." She whines, hands clenching around the steering wheel hard enough for Olive to hear the force against the leather. "If you go any higher I cannot guarantee that I won't crash this car."

"Maybe I want you to." Olive says it before she realizes. "Maybe I want you to slam us forward into something, bruise me up, make the airbags pop, make me breathe in the scent of your singing dashboard and deflating airbags as I lean over and kiss you. Maybe I want to hurt when I touch you, want every breath to be filled with heady smell as I feel you."

"Olive, fuck!" She gets out, and the car swerves a little as Emma jerks forward at Olive's words. "Please, _God_ , let me be a proper lady and save our first for a bed. _Please_."

And Emma's pleading is what gets her to agree. But it's not enough to get her to move her hand. She simply drags her hand in circles, barely touching Emma with her fingertips.

The rest of the short drive is silent save for Emma's hard breathing. The whole way, she worries her lips between her teeth.

When they get into Emma's driveway, she slams on the brakes, jerking the car forward before she puts the thing in park. She's out the car before Olive, running to the front door without even bothering to lock her car. Olive follows just as enthusiastically after her.

Emma busts the door open, and shuts it once Olive hurries inside, already going to Emma's bedroom.

She beats Emma to the room, so she stands in front of the bed, waiting for Emma to come in. And when she does, she looks out of breath. Her hair is wild, her bottom lip is flushed and covered with teeth marks from her own teeth.

They both stand there for a bit, staring at each other and scratching their gazes up and down each other's bodies. And then, in a flash, Emma surges forward and pushes Olive onto the bed, knocking the breath out of her.

Olive's head spins and heart pounds as Emma gives her no time to recover before leaning over her and kissing her _harder_  than she even thought possible.

Emma smells like black, destructive smoke and tastes like Marlboros. She's warm; extremely warm. And even though she knows it isn't from the fire anymore, it reminds her of it, the image of the run down building going up in loud, neon, angry flames dancing behind her closed eyes as she feels the wet softness of Emma's lips on top of her.

Olive couldn't possibly touch her enough. She can't get her hands on enough; she wishes then that she had a million, to feel every part of Emma's soft skin. Her hair, the back of her neck, her ass, her breasts, her stomach, her curves. But she does not have a million, regretfully, so she opts on the back of her neck as Emma uses one hand to hold herself above Olive and the other to cradle her curves.

Emma pushes forward into the kiss especially hard, and Olive feels the bed dip under her head as Emma digs her fingers into Olive's side. And such would usually tickle, but when she's this aroused- this _wet_ \- the sensation on her nerves elicits not a laugh, but a heady moan against Emma's lips.

Emma pulls back just slightly, enough to speak but not enough so that their noses aren't brushing. "God, your sounds are so cute."

Olive isn't sure what sound she makes at that sentence. Maybe a moan, maybe a whimper. But whatever it is, it has Emma moving her mouth to Olive's neck and kissing gently just below Olive's jaw.

And as very cute and endearing as that is, as much as she does enjoy romantic and soft moments with Emma, she doesn't _want_  gentle.

"No." Olive whines. "Bite me. Suck on me. Please make me hurt, Emma."

The words shock herself, and they definitely shock Emma. Emma pulls away from Olive's neck to look at Olive's face.

"Holy shit," Emma breathes out with a dumbfounded look. "For real?"

Olive feels herself grow hotter cheeks than she already had, and gives out a meek nod.

Emma's mouth drops open just slightly. "Olive, you have no idea how incredibly _hot_  that sentence was." She says with a hoarse voice before dipping back down to Olive's neck and biting at the skin between her shoulder and neck. "Say it again." She puffs against Olive's skin.

" _Hurt_  me." She keens, whole body trembling. "Harder. Harder."

And Emma does not disappoint. She moves her mouth just barely away from the original bite, and the feeling of Emma's _very much harder_  bite on the already slightly raw skin has her whining and her back slightly arching off of the bed.

"You really like this?" Emma asks, and it isn't out of curiosity. It's vulgar. It's explicit. It's _hot_.

"Yes. _Yes_ , Emma, God-" She cuts herself off with a moan when Emma bites down again in the same place. She feels layers of her skin break, and Emma's saliva stings. " _Yes_!" She cries out, eyes clenching shut and mouth hanging open.

Emma goes up on her knees, and adjusts herself so she's straddling just below Olive's hips, on the top of her thighs. She places her hands on Olive's torso, pinning her down. "I wouldn't have taken you for a masochist."

"Me neither." Olive whines honestly, face flushed and almost panting.

At that, Emma goes down to kiss Olive again. Their lips glide, slick and soft and perfect, and when Emma begins to pull away, she catches Olive's bottom lip in her teeth and bites down just slightly before pulling away completely. Olive moans as Emma sits up straight again. She pulls off her jacket and drags off her tank top over her head, throwing them both somewhere Olive cannot and doesn't care enough to see. All she can focus on is Emma reaching behind her own torso and clipping off her brazier.

They're perfect. Emma's breasts are _perfect_. Olive keens at the sight of them, feeling her rib cage and groin light up.

"You're so pretty like this." Emma taunts, voice slightly raspy. "Laying down, taking me." She moves her hands to grasp Olive's breasts, squeezing them tightly through Olive's brazier. It causes Olive to let out a sound. A pathetic one, a whorish one. "Making these slutty little noises." She squeezes again. "I never would have guessed, in a million years, when I met you as a shy, meek little thing, that you liked _this_. That you liked me being _mean_."

Olive nods vigorously. "I do. I like you being mean to me."

Emma's smile grows wicked. Hungry. "Then I'll do it more." She moves her face to Olive's neck again, hands still on Olive's breasts. This time when she bites- in a different place, jut as hard- she clenches her hands tightly on Olive's breasts. Olive _whimpers_ , and when Emma moves her mouth to suck on a part of her neck rather than bite, pawing at Olive's chest, she begins to really pant, chest rising and falling faster than Olive's sure it ever has.

Her heart is pounding in her ears, and the feeling of her skin being tormented by Emma's mouth is deadly.

As Emma switches to the other side of Olive's neck to suck a spot there too, her hands begin to slowly drag down Olive's body. She digs her nails slightly into Olive's skin, and she can't feel it as well as she'd like over her shirt, but she doesn't even care about that at all when both of Emma's hands reach a common destination.

Both of Emma's hands struggle to fit between Olive's legs, so she spreads them, moaning when her hands fully cup her over her pants.

"Spreading your legs for me without me even having to ask." Emma breathes against Olive's neck, sending shivers all the way down her spine to her vagina, causing it to throb. _Hard_.

Emma must feel it, because Olive feels her smiling on her skin. "You're so responsive. Throbbing for me. So wet already that I can feel it through your pyjamas even though I've hardly even touched you. Makes me wonder how you'll react to my fingers inside of you."

Olive whimpers again at that, and her hands squeeze the back of Emma's neck.

" _Please_." Olive keens, breathless.

"Please _what_ , love?" She pulls back to look Olive head on, making her look her in the eyes when she says it.

" _Please_  put your fingers inside of me."

Emma's smile is almost evil. Cat like. Devilish. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

And, not looking away from Olive's eyes, she moves her hands so that her right is inside of Olive's pants, inside of her underwear, and the other one on the bed. And the light sensation of Emma's soft hands against her bare wet skin nearly has her crying. She gasps, back arching ever slightly and head tilting back.

"You're so _wet_." Emma purrs. "All for me, just from me talking to you."

But something else that Olive doesn't miss is that she's able to feel Emma's vagina on one of her thighs, and she's hyper aware of the fact that she's most definitely not the only one soaking her clothes.

Emma runs a bit, teasing her fingers over Olive's clitoris, and she _sobs_ , practically forming tears as her hands move from Emma's neck to grip onto the sheets.

The sound of Emma's fingers dragging against Olive are so _lewd_  They're wet, almost popping sounds.

All of her nerves are burning as Emma presses down a bit harder, rubbing a bit faster. She cries out, softly, grating against her throat as the sensation on her clitoris almost begins to hurt.

Emma moves her fingers; moves them so her middle finger dips down to tease her as if to go inside of her while the others cup her.

All Emma does is excruciatingly drag her middle finger up and down, and Olive can feel herself but cannot stop herself from clenching, desperate and eager.

Emma chuckles with a darkness that has Olive winded, and Olive is spun reeling when Emma shoves her finger in fairly fast. It has her gasping again, and she finds it extremely difficult to actually take in any air.

Emma fucks her finger in and out, and the sounds are so erotic that Olive can hardly think. Emma hardly waits before adding her index and ring finger, and Olive is blessed that she doesn't.

She hasn't done this in a bit of a long time; had anything enter her. Her vagina is tight- to a point where it would be considered painful if it wasn't so _fucking arousing_. And when Emma thrusts her fingers in completely down to her knuckles and curves upwards, that's it.

Olive moans. _Loud_. Loud enough for the whole bloody city to hear. Her back arches high enough that her spine cracks, her head goes back, her eyes roll backwards, her eyelids flutter almost shut but not quite strong enough to fully get there.

"That's perfect, love." Emma growls. "Taking my fingers, being so loud. I want my neighbors to hear."

She moves her fingers almost out, and then _slams_  them back in, right in the same spot, and Olive sobs right alongside what could almost constitute as a scream.

"Just like that." She says, and when Olive feels Emma begin to move her vagina against Olive's leg, it's almost too much. Her leg becomes more damp as Emma rubs herself against it, and Emma begins to roughly thrust her fingers in and out.

Both paces are too slow, and Olive's going to _die_  if she keeps at this pace.

"Faster-" Olive's surprised she's even able to talk. "Faster- faster- please-"

And Emma obliges. She fucks her fingers much faster and ruts against Olive's leg at a much hastier and much more sporadic pace. She moves her body down to bite at Olive's neck again, muffling her own moan against Olive's skin. Olive whines with a force she feels all throughout her neck. Loud enough that she's worried Emma's neighbors actually _will_  hear her.

As Emma picks up the pace in both her fingers and her thrusting, Olive's moans turn to screams and Emma's hard breathing against Olive's neck turns to panting with a whimper at the end of each raspy breath.

When Emma bites down on Olive's neck hard enough that Olive can _feel_  herself bleeding, that really does it for her.

Olive comes first, her back arching so much that she hears the bed creak and her fists clenching so hard into the sheets that she feels her fingers go numb. Her scream is cut off as she loses the ability to even make sound, eyes feeling completely gone and every muscle inside of her exploding and coming back together only to explode again. Her mind goes blank, and all she can hear is ringing as her body feels like it stops completely.

Emma notices Olive come, and when she stops clamping around Emma's fingers, Emma moves her hand out of Olive to grasp onto Olive's sides. Her grinding becomes hard, extreme. She's keening and whining onto Olive's skin, and the sight of Emma desperately rocking on Olive's thigh is a sight to behold indeed. Emma only lasts a few seconds before burying her head in the crook of Olive's neck, moaning loud enough to crack her voice as she stutters to a stop on Olive's leg.

Her hips twitch up and down a bit before she goes fairly limp on top of Olive.

They're both breathing hard, and Olive's body is quickly deflating.

There's quite a few moments of silence before Olive's thoughts turn dirty again. She looks down as best as she can to Emma's panting body, watching her back rise and fall rapidly and feeling her heartbeat against her torso. The dampness on her leg is warm and enticing, and the entire room is humid with sex and the still thick scent of smoke and cigarett.

"I _really_  want to eat you out right now." Olive is somehow able to get out, however uncharacteristic the statement is. She wonders, somewhere, how in the world she gains so much confidence around Emma

Emma does something between a whine and a laugh. "Right _now_? Please Olive, I just came disgustingly hard from doing nothing more than humping your fucking leg through my pyjamas. Give me a second to recover."

Olive laughs as hearty as she can. "You sound like a boy."

 _That_  gets Emma energized. She rockets upwards so that she's straddling Olive again, and her face, though flushed and panting, is extremely offended.

"A _boy_?" Emma gapes at Olive's smile.

"What else are you if you can only come _once_?" She teases, daring Emma.

And Emma takes it.

"Oh, I'll show you how many times I can come." Emma leans a bit closer to Olive and grins with an animistic expression. "And I'll show you that I can make you come _more_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys so u know that tag i had where it said rating may change? here is where she shines


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys im not dead

Olive comes seven times. Needless to say, she absolutely could not move before going to sleep, in which caused Emma dropping her off back at her apartment in the morning with barely enough time to change and rush to work.

Olive really, _really_  wishes she owned more turtlenecks. Because she's got a pretty strong bouquet of hickeys lining her neck.

She didn't have enough time in the morning for makeup, and she had to make due with grabbing a button up and buttoning as high as she could; but damn it all, some of the hickeys are _really high_.

And of _course_  her coworkers notice. How could they not? The bright reds and purples against her nearly paper colored skin is something that no one could miss.

When the boy she used to fancy walks by her cubicle, he glances over, gives a hello, continues walking, and does the most "double take" double take that Olive has ever seen.

He whistles. "Ol _ive_! Look at _you_!"

Olive feels her cheeks heat up incredibly, fingers stopping their tapping on her keyboard in favor of covering her neck as best as she can. "Ugh, stop. I feel like a teenager enough."

"Oh please, us adults can enjoy hickeys just as much as teenagers." He comes over and rests his elbows on the short wall of her cubicle. "Who's the lucky guy? Anyone in the office?" He wiggles his brows, and if Olive had still found him attractive, she would have forced a laugh.

But somehow, to her, the only person she can think of that's attractive is Emma.

"No. No one you'd know, I don't think."

He laughs. "Oh yeah? Try me. Tell me his name and I'm sure I'll know who it is. I'm friends with what feels like every damn guy in this town!"

Olive does chuckle at that, because she finds it slightly funny that he's so positive it's a man.

"Name is Emma."

The look on his face has her holding back laughter she feels in her bone marrow.

"Really! I would never have thought! I'll be honest, I totally thought you liked me for a while some time ago. I would never have guessed you were gay."

She doesn't feel any need to correct him; she can't find it in her to care enough. So all she does is shrug and offer a shy smile.

"Well, congratulations! I don't know any Emmas, but if you like her, then by default I am obligated to also like her. You should definitely introduce me sometime! Maybe we could even go on a double date."

Olive thinks she'd rather stick a shotgun in her mouth.

"Catch you later, Olive!" He says with a smile, and walks away towards his office.

God, every damn time she sees him, she hates him more and more. It's so draining. And she doesn't even know why.

"I can only hope that isn't true." She grumbles under her breath.

She looks down at her phone resting on her desk, and wishes she had gotten Emma's phone number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so.. i know that i havent posted in like three months and this is pretty much just a filler but like.. too late to do anything about it now

**Author's Note:**

> send me anon hate on tumbeler.Com: @memekasasha


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